


You'll Be

by zinger17



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, fathers and sons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 12:50:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1649213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinger17/pseuds/zinger17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I’ll love you forever<br/>I’ll like you for always<br/>As long as I’m living<br/>My baby you’ll be<br/>by Robert Munsch</p>
<p>A father's love never changes, never wavers, never dies. No matter what.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You'll Be

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers: The Song, 'Love You Forever' is the property of Robert Munsch.

Many things change after Rumpelstiltskin limps his way home from the Ogres war. 

Milah’s anger is palpable, a constant tread of tension thrumming throughout their small hovel. His wife has made her position on his safe, abit mangled, return home perfectly clear: she still resolutely believes he should have disregarded the seer’s message and rode into battle with the rest of his unit. His death, apparently, is a price she is willing to pay for the retention of honor and reputation. 

Milah stomps about, slamming cutlery, throwing washing. She grimly tends his wound with herbs and wraps the swollen, twisted ankle with fresh rags but avoids his eyes and attempts to draw her close afterward. Gone is the gentle companionship and understanding, the smiles and friendly conversation from before. A vast wall has been erected between them and he is utterly powerless to tear it down. The change that disturbs Rumpelstiltskin the most, however, is this: it would seem that Baelfire has been firmly placed on Rumpelstiltskin’s side of the barricade. 

Milah seems to take no interest at all in their young son. She feeds him heedlessly, then swiftly hands him over to his father and proceeds to find any excuse to leave their home and his presence. As such, the majority of Baelfire’s care falls to his clumpy, crippled father. 

Rumpelstiltskin doesn’t begrudge his son one instant for the additional responsibility. Baelfire is the most beautiful baby in all the realms, from his dark, wispy curls to his tiny toes. His sweet smell and soft skin sooth away the loneliness left in the wake of Milah’s resentful silence. His soft gurgles and coos captivate his besotted father and cradling his son’s soft, downy head close to his heart never fails to bring tears of joy to his eyes. 

Rumpelstiltskin keeps his newborn son close constantly. With skilled hands, he fashions a sling using an old shawl. It hooks around his upper body and when cinched tight, he is able to safely carry his son about. He rises in the night when the boy wails, taking him outside into the warm summer air as to not disturb Milah and anger her further. He bathes Baelfire, feeds him as soon as he is weaned, stays up all night when the lad is ill and screaming with it, cradles him close in his sling while spinning, changes and washes his soiled diapers, and doesn’t resent one damn moment of it. He’s not his coward of a father. His son will always come first, will never know the pain of thinking he’s a burden, will never ever have any cause to think he is not the most loved child in all of the realms. 

“I’ll never leave you, Bae,” he whispers scrubbing a shirt his son spat up on. His boy has been especially fussy lately, brought on no doubt by the wee nubs trying to push their way through his gums. The lad in question sits aways off, stuffing his toy doll into his mouth and drooling. 

“I’ll always love you. Nothing you ever do can stop that. You’ll never stop me from liking you,” Rumpelstiltskin continues fiercely, wringing out his soiled shirt. Baelfire gurgles on, oblivious. “For always, Bae. Always.” 

Later that night, holding his whimpering son close, the exhausted father pulls Baelfire close and croons a lullaby softly into his tiny ear, “I’ll love you forever Bae. I’ll like you for always. As long as I’m living…my baby you’ll be.” 

……

“Papa, papa look! Look at me!”

Rumpelstiltskin indulgently breaks away from his careful spinning to turn and see his young son carefully lifting the dipper out of the milk jug and pouring it into his wee cup. Turning about, Bae triumphantly holds up his prize and chirps, “I did it all by myself!” 

“Well done, Bae,” he cries, smiling at his son’s excitement. Bae was such a good lad, eager to help his parents whenever he could. “You’re getting so big!” 

The lad beams, dashing over to grab his father’s staff, worn smooth by all the handling. “See, see? Soon I’ll be as big as you, Papa!” Bae bounces, pointing to the notches cut into the side of the staff signaling his growth. 

Bigger still, if Rumpelstilskin’s prediction proves true. Smiling, he bends down and grasps the staff from his son’s eager hands. “Yes, yes, you will. One day. But until then…wait to get your milk until mum or I am there to watch you do it. Alright?”

Baelfire’s face falls. “Why, papa? I can do it!” the boy protests, shaking his floofy head. The spinner grasps his son‘s shoulders pulling him so they are eye to eye. “Oh, I know son, I know. But milk is hard to come by. And we need to be careful with it, yeah? Promise me you’ll wait for help before you get any?” 

The boy’s face skews up mulishly and Rumpelstiltskin worries he might have a fight on his hands when Bae sighs and nods sadly. “Okay papa. I’ll wait for my milk.” 

“Good lad,” he praises, relieved he won’t have to deal with a show of temper. His boy is his world and disciplining him always feels like tearing himself in two. 

Later that night, Rumpelstiltskin excuses himself upon Milah’s return to fetch fresh water. He limps toward the village square, bucket in hand, staff in the other. It’s cowardice but he does his utmost to avoid his wife at all times now. Her thinly disguised barbs jab him more than he lets on, but he absolutely cannot stand Baelfire hearing them. If he dedicates himself to staying in the background, she doesn’t mock him in front of his son. 

Fetching water has become on ordeal since his wound and it takes him twice as long. His hands are stripped and raw, his upper body aching by the time he starts the long trek home, weighed down with his now-full bucket. 

His pain flies out of his mind the moment he approaches their hovel and hears loud shouts drifting out of it. Dropping the full pail without a thought, he scrambles toward the door, heaving it open and practically falling through. The sight that greets him knocks him breathless. 

His son is sobbing hysterically, the jug holding their hard-earned supply of milk shattered and leaking all over the dirt floor. Milah is red-faced, grasping Baelfire by the arms, shouting and, to Rumpelstiltskin’s horror, shaking the lad. 

He lunches forward, dropping his staff and falling to the floor to wrap himself around Bae, wrenching him from his mother’s grasp. Scooting backward, Rumpelstiltskin somehow finds his voice. “Stop! Milah stop! What happened here?!”

Milah turns on him like a rapid hound scenting a quarry. “What happened? What happened is your son knocked over the only milk we are getting this month! He’s ruined the entire thing lock, stock, and barrel!”

Bae sobs in his arms and Rumpelstiltskin suddenly understands. Baelfire must have tried to pour himself a treat and an accident had ensued. “Milah…please. He’s just a lad and…” 

“He’s old enough to understand that we’re poor isn’t he, huh?” Milah’s eyes are wet with frustrated tears and blazing with fury,” He’s old enough to understand what is it to go hungry isn’t he? He’s old enough, by far Rumpelstiltskin. Old enough not to be coddled by his coward father, that’s for certain. You keep this up, he’s going to end up just like you. I need a damned drink.”

The door slams behind her and Bae lets out a fresh wail. “I’m sorry Papa! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” 

Heart shattering, Rumpelstiltskin wraps his arms even tighter around Bae, rocking his boy, shushing him. “Oh Bae it’s alright. It’s alright. It was just an accident lad. Just an accident.” Instinctively cupping his head, Rumpelstiltskin pulls Baelfire against his shoulder, still rocking. As Bae’s sobs slowly grow quieter, Rumpelstiltskin softly sings what’s become their own, private song. “I’ll love you forever. I’ll like you for always. As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.” 

…. 

 

“Bae?” 

The hovel is eerily silent. 

Baelfire’s just reached his ninth summer and Rumpelstiltskin felt confident in leaving the lad alone for the afternoon to go to market. He’d made good progress selling his wares with no young child distracting him but now he can’t locate said child and his heart is about to burst out of his chest. 

“Bae!” he limps forward, dropping his basket, “Bae! Where are you boy? Bae!”

“I’m here Papa.” 

Rumpelstiltskin whips around. His son is huddled in the corner, wrapped in a duvet. He keeps his face down. 

“Bae! You frightened the life out of me, boy,” the spinner limps closer, heartbeat slowly returning to normal. Bae doesn’t answer and still doesn’t life his face. “What’s wrong then? Are you feeling ill?” 

The lad finally lifts his face and Rumpelstiltskin draws a sharp breath. Baelfire’s face is wet with tears. 

“I’m sorry Papa,” Bae scrubs at his face, “I…I just…I really miss Mama right now,” the boy whispers. He ducks his head again, apparently ashamed. 

“Oh Bae,” Rumpelstiltskin hobbles over to his corner, cursing that horrific pirate to the seventh circle of hell and back. Bae deserves his mother. Bae deserves the world. But he can’t have it because of that fucking dog maturating as a man. “I’m so sorry lad,” he sinks down and puts his arm around his boy. 

Bae leans against him. “I shouldn’t cry about it anymore,” he sniffles. “I’m nine. I’m too old for that.” 

Rumpelstiltskin shakes his head. “You’re never too old Bae to miss the people you love,” he mummers. “And you’ll never be too old to ask me for anything, I promise you that.” The next words come easily, what had to be a hundred times, “I’ll love you forever. I’ll like you for always. As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.” 

…..

“Happy birthday Bae,” he whispers, lighting the wee candle. 

The flickering light illuminates the worn shawl lying on the work table. All he has left of his son. His baby. 

‘For now,’ the Dark One thinks tightly, refusing to let him mind wander down dark paths. Only for now. Soon he will find his son. They will be reunited, it can’t be much longer. And he will never, ever let him go again. 

“To many years to count Bae. But I’ve counted every one,” he rasps softly. Reaching out, he strokes Bae’s soft shawl. His fifth birthday present. It was a practical gift, a plain woolen wrap for the cold but oh, Bae’s reaction! Eye’s popping, he’d flung himself at Rumpelstiltskin, too young to take heed of his father’s injury. It hadn’t mattered. He’d gathered his son close, hugging him for all he was worth. He should never have let go. He should never have… 

“Rumpelstiltskin?” the wizard jolted, whirled about. Oh. The maid. 

“I’m…I’m sorry I didn’t know you were in here,” the girl hurries to say, smiling. She’s always smiling. 

“Go away,” Rumpelstiltskin dismisses her with a flick of his hand. He’s in no mood for pretty, smiling maids tonight. He needs to grieve and he will tolerate no witnesses. 

“I’ll just uh, I’ll just put these flowers down,” the girl says, determinately cheerful despite his gruff order and heavy mood. She strides toward the table laden with mementos, with memories. 

“Go away,” he almost growls, turning on his heel to see the maid, Belle, stop and stare. Grinding his teeth, he snuffs out the candle and snatches it up to place reverently on the lower shelf. He won’t let anyone else intrude on Bae’s time. Never. 

Straightening back up, he starts. The girl’s eyes have lit upon Bae’s shawl and he almost grabs her arm when she touches the threadbare cloth. 

He’s not quite sure why he doesn’t. 

Belle looks up at him with wide eyes. “I’m uh…I’m so sorry,” she mummers in that low voice of hers. “It was a remembrance wasn’t it?” Rumpelstiltskin can’t speak, throat too tight with his rising emotions. “How old would he be?” the girl continues.

“Well, he’s not dead! He’s just lost,” the sharp answer tears it’s way out of his throat unwillingly. 

“Lost?” he hears his maid’s quiet question, but he’s lost in his memories of green vortexes and screams of ‘You coward!’ and everything keeps spilling out. 

“Today is his birthday. I should be with him, celebrating. We had a chance to be happy together…but I was afraid.” He has no idea why he’s sharing these secrets with this girl, a maid, a child. A child who still believes in the goodness of others, that thieves can still be noble people. Why is he telling her these things? 

“Maybe it’s not too late,” the girl’s voice breaks into his dark thoughts. He looks at her, soft, kind, earnest. Her hope burns him so, he must avert his gaze. He’s waited centuries for his boy. He’s not sure how much longer he can stand. And no one must stand is his way to his baby. No one. 

When Belle finally exits the tower, Rumpelstiltskin completes his yearly ritual. Pulling the shawl close to his chest, the Dark One closes his eyes, sways, and sings, “I’ll love forever. I’ll like you for always. As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.

…..

Rumpelstiltskin stands outside Granny’s dinner, drinking in the sight before him, a sight he never thought he’d ever see again. 

His son. His Baelfire, home at last. 

They’d done it. He almost couldn’t believe it. They’d defeated Pan, forcing the selfish bastard into Pandora’s box- see how he liked it, thank you very much- and found their way back to Storybrooke. His son is alive, his grandson is alive, he’s alive- it’s almost too good to be true. 

But it is true. He’d spent several hours in the back of his shop with Belle proving to him just how true it was. Rumpelstiltskin tries to hold back his smirk at that train of thought and focuses on the present. 

He could go inside. He could walk right in and walk up to his son, his Bae and he would be welcomed. His son would smile at the sight of him- and oh, the thought makes his eyes prickle with tears- and invite him to sit. They could sit together, talk about Bae’s life, his adventures. 

Rumpelstiltskin sucks in a breath, then relaxes…and turns away from the cozy scene before him. 

Bae isn’t a child anymore. He’s a man. Their time in Neverland certainly proved that. He’s also not just Baelfire anymore: he’s Neal, a person Rumpelstiltkin doesn’t know quite yet. But he’s certain he will grow to learn Neal, just as he knew Bae. It will take time and patience but he’s willing to wait. He’s willing to do anything for his son. 

‘Soon,’ Rumpelstiltskin promises himself, walking away. Soon, they will talk, in private. He will hear all about what happened after their separation. And they’ll grow close, just as close as they were before. A father’s love never changes, even if his child does. 

They had all the time in the world now. 

Smiling senselessly, Rumpelstiltskin quietly hums the dearly loved lullaby to himself, “I’ll love you forever. I’ll like you for always. As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.” 

…..

The forest is deathly quiet and still.

Rumpelstiltskin holds his baby’s body close and just breathes. 

He’s not sure how he’s doing it. Breathing. He’s not sure how his body has not simply shut off and stopped as soon as his son’s did. He’s not sure how his heart keeps pumping, his lungs keep dragging air in and out, how his brain keeps firing neutrons when Bae’s isn’t. 

He just doesn’t know how. 

Bae’s body is large and sturdy. His hair is still soft and downy. His fingers are large and callused and worn. He’s not soft and warm anymore. He’s cold. 

He doesn’t know how that happened either. 

Miss Swan has flown, running back to her parents to warn them of Zelena’s identity, tears streaming down her cheeks. He’s not crying. The howling grief is trapped, tearing at his insides, ice in his veins. 

His son is dead. 

Moaning, he wraps his arms around his son. He cradles his head close. Slowly, they rock back and forth together on the forest floor. And, for the very last time, Rumpelstiltskin sings his baby to sleep. 

“I’ll love you forever. I’ll like you for always. As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.”


End file.
